Promise
by Naeth
Summary: A new newsie in Brooklyn, pre/during/post strike. This is not a Mary Sue or a romance fic. CHAPTER 2&3 NOW UP 10/8!
1. Default Chapter

Promise

"Fifty papes," the newcomer said, flipping the coin then setting it down. The desired amount was dutifully handed over and the newcomer would likely have gone on his way had not a figure blocked his path.

"What have we here, lads?" the slightly shorter figure asked, not turning to look at those that stood behind him, some carelessly examining their slingshots.

"I could ask the same," the newcomer said. "What do you want?"

"No, no," the short one shook his head. "What d'ya want? D'ya want to leave peacefully or do y' want some reminders?" Slingshots were loaded.

The newcomer frowned. "It's a free city, isn't it?"

"Yer on our land. Brooklyn land," the shorter one explained as if to a slow child.

"And who're you? The mayor?" the newcomer snapped. "Let me by."

"Or else what?"

The newcomer dropped his papers purposefully and put up his fists. The shorter eyed him reflectively, then copied his movement. The other newsies ringed them round, linking arms to make a makeshift arena.

The shorter figure was fast and lightfooted, able to get in a good hit before the newcomer blocked. Then the newcomer fired away hard and the short one fired back and soon they were tussling on the ground. They were almost evenly matched, something neither of them had experienced before, and now it would come down to the one who had the better endurance. Or so it seemed. In rough'in tumble no rules, anything could happen. 

The newcomer felt his opponent go limp and his concentration wandered for a moment- he didn't want to seriously hurt anyone- then he felt himself flying backwards, stomach hurting. That was a good trick, one he'd have to remember, if he made it. He scrambled up as did his opponent and the fight began again. Long minutes passed, each getting and giving about equally. Then the newcomer had had enough.

"This is pointless!" he shouted. "I'll fight you, I'll fight everyone here, after I sell my papes!"

"Not in Brooklyn y' don't," one of the slingshot wielders said, pulling the elastic back.

"Leave off Roe," the shorter figure said, wiping some blood from his mouth. The redhaired slinger reluctantly put the sling away. "Got a name?" he asked the newcomer.

"Anj O'Neil. You?"

"Spot Conlon. Yer not a bad fighter."

"You neither. Can I sell my papes now?" Anj asked.

"Don't encourage newbies," Spot said. "Yer not bad, Anj, but…"

Anj nodded wearily. "I understand. Look, I won't be long, just the day, and maybe the night…" If Spot disagreed, then he'd have to be bodily thrown out of Brooklyn, he was too tired to walk.

Spot nodded. "An' then y' go. Manhattan takes on some, Harlem 'n Bronx too."

Anj nodded. "Fine." He pulled his cap back over his brown hair and set off.

"Roe, how many papes d'y have?" Spot asked, watching Anj's retreating back.

"Thirty. Malloy won't loan me any more," Roe answered, mock-scowling at his best friend Malloy.

"No y' don't," Spot said briskly.

Roe frowned. "Spot- what-?"

"Give 'em t' Malloy, he won't cheat y'. More'n usual," he added, not serious. Malloy was about the most honest newsie in New York, almost never improved the headlines and made most of his sales by his face and charm. 

Roe did as he was told. "Nah what?' he asked.

"Follow Anj. Everywhere. An' iffin he don't leave, tell me."

Roe nodded. "Gottcha Spot." And then he too left.

"Well don'tcha stand gawpin' lads!" Spot shouted. "Extra, extra, man found drowned." 

"Where?" Malloy asked, going through a paper.

"'e's predictin' Malloy," another newsie said. "Iffin y' don't start, y'll be drownt!" Laughter all around and another day of selling began.

Review if you want more!


	2. Chapter 2

"Extra, extra! Read all about it, vandals deface Statue of Liberty!" Anj made three sales before he moved on at a quick pace. Something was bothering him, something wasn't quite right, he felt. He turned abruptly. No one seemed to be following him, but then, you never knew, really, in a city. At home the worst crowd was on market day and that was easy enough to spot a shadow, they were the ones trying not to be noticed and usually doing a bad job of it. He shook his head. Probably his imagination. Besides, who'd want to rob a newsie? 

_We don't make enough to be worth the bother! he thought Eighteen cents clinked in the little leather pouch inside his shirt. Eighteen papes. Business was slow. But then, he didn't know the better selling grounds in Brooklyn and he'd promised to get out by the night at the latest. He'd seen a few other newsies, but not many and they had no cause to speak to each other, just to shout over each other and briefly challenge for the best improved headline._

"Extra, famous author in critical condition following accident!" he shouted. Actually twisting an ankle wasn't quite critical condition, but any pape that bothered to print such news must be in dire straits for better headlines. Two more papes. His stomach growled. _About lunch time.__ Not enough, he determined. Twenty cents was probably enough, but the saving mania was on him again and he knew that for the next few days he'd pinch every penny even more than usual. He wanted out of New York. Maryland was nice, he'd heard. They raised horses there and he knew enough about that to earn his keep._

He yawned. He hated getting up early, but if you didn't, you starved. _If I ever become a millionaire, I'm going to sleep in 'til __noon__ every day. "Extra, extra, ship sinks in the Atlantic!" The fact that this one only scraped another due to careless handling was too trifling to bother with. Five papes. People really went for disasters. He wondered why. Was it because they were grateful that they hadn't been in the disaster, or was it because they were 'accident gawkers' people who'd stand around after a fight wondering if the loser would bleed to death. ****__Nice__ sorts, he frowned. __If their gran fell down the stairs they'd take bets on how long it'd take her to die! He turned around again. Still nothing, but he could have sworn he was being followed! Half his papes sold, and almost to the Bridge. Then into Lower Manhattan to see if they were more open to newcomers._

He turned again. Apparently he wasn't being shadowed, but someone else was, a slightly familiar looking someone, but he could not think where from. Shadowed by one, two- and there was a third. Anj frowned. It wasn't any of his business he knew, for all he knew the shadowed had it coming to him. But three to one? Not fun. Not very fair either. He looked at his stack of papes. Hm…

Roe casually looked over the fruit stand. "Yah gawking or buyin' Roe?" Greg asked, but he was momentarily called away by another customer. Roe looked back at his quarry, who had for no reason turned around. Had he guessed he was being followed? Roe felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to prickle but he ignored them.

"Extra, famous painting removed from gallery by parties unknown!" his quarry- what was his name? Anj? shouted at him.

Roe almost laughed. The idea of a newsie buying from another newsie- then he saw Anj give him a hard look that fairly screamed 'Look out!'_ Roe paid attention to his instinct and swung around to block a blow just in time. He immediately followed up with a bodyshot into his attacker. Out of the corner of his left eye, he saw Anj fighting too. He kicked his opponent hard in the shins and the man tumbled, but another attacker lunged at him and tackled him. Roe saw a flash of steel. __Hell no! he thought and twisted hard sideways, pulling his foot up to try to push his opponent off. The knife moved in his opponent's hand as the man got a better grip and Roe knew it would be a contest of strength now. His arm against his opponent's, he pushed and the other pushed and then Roe kicked hard and felt something crack, the man rolled off of him, then stabbed his knife downwards. Roe felt fiery pain in his arm, but swung his good one for the man's jaw. It connected and he was out._

Roe lay still for a moment, catching his breath- then he remembered Anj. But the slighter newsie had finished off his opponent- and didn't seem to realize it, punching the unconscious man repeatedly.

"Hey!" Roe rasped, sitting up, clutching his arm. "He's out a' ready, c'mon, let's get outa here 'fore it gets too hot!"

Anj shook his head slightly, as if to clear it. "You all right?" he asked, standing.

"Not bad," Roe answered, also standing. "You?"

"Fine."

Roe's keen ears heard whistles. Even if it wasn't about them, now would be a good time to vacate the area. "Follow me!" he ordered. Anj picked up his papes and did so. By back ways and alleys, Roe got them a sufficient distance away and they slumped down against an alley wall. "Thanks," he said at last.

"Welcome," Anj said. "What'd they want?"

"My hide," Roe grinned. "That's Crate 'n co, our local goons. Usually they leaves us well enough alone, but I got 'em really mad 'few days back. We gotta history, but they started."

Anj nodded.

Roe blinked a few times. His sight was strangely blurring. He looked at the cut in his arm. _Deeper than I thought, he mused, torn between pride that he had not noticed it before and a little fear. That was a deep cut. __Too much damn blood…dimness came, then darkness._


	3. Chapter 3

            Roe felt something familiar tasting sting in his throat and he coughed. Pain shot up his arm. He opened his eyes. He was on a bottom bunk in the Lodging House and Spot was sitting next to him with a small glass in his hand. "Among the livin' again, Roe?" he asked.

            Roe nodded and sat up careful not to jar his bandaged arm. "How'd-?"

            "Our newest joiner brought y' back," Spot said nodding at Anj, who sat off to the right. "Roe owes y', Anj," Spot said with the barest hint of a smile. "Iffin I were y' I'd at least make 'im pay for lunch." Spot took up his walking stick, stuck it swordwise through a belt loop. "Be out by the docks," he said and left.

            Madigan's was a third rate little diner that the Brooklyn newsies frequented often, not out of loyalty, but necessity. Watery, lukewarm potato soup and a slice of dried bread with jam was the day's special so Roe and Anj got the same thing. "So, where y' from?" Roe asked, sipping the soup slowly to make it last longer.

            "Galway."

            Roe smiled. "My parents were from Kerry."

            "With a name like Roe, that's not a surprise," Anj smiled.

            "What about yor name?" Roe asked.

            "O'Neil? Northern."

            "No, Anj, what sorta name is that?"

            Anj rolled his eyes. "'S my mother's fault. I was born about noon."

            Understanding dawned. "'Angelus'?"

            "Angelus Andrew O'Neil at yor service," Anj said, doffing his hat.

            Roe laughed. "Angelus Andrew?"

            "An' that's between these walls and us!"

            "Fine," Roe said. He was too tired to get into another fight. "Y' want, I'll show y' around?"

REVIEW PLEASE! (Comments, ideas, suggestions, anything but unhelpful flames)


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